Peter: 8 June, 1972
Peter sat on his decrepit swingset. It was moldy and rotted now, destroyed slowly by a thousand rainfalls and years of neglect, but his father had never bothered to take it down. The trapeze had long since broken, and the rope he used to climb had rotted away, but one wooden swing could still support his weight, so he still came out here and sat.
He always faced away from the house, looking off toward the skyline of the nearby muggle town, dominated as it was by a lonely steeple. Beyond the town, he could just make out the sea, glittering azure on the horizon. It was easy for him to imagine himself somewhere else if he couldn't see his house. He would pretend to be lord of the town, standing in his castle courtyard, looking out over his dominion. The fantasy never changed, for Peter had never been long on imagination. He was a practical sort, and always had been. Still, he enjoyed his little fantasy as much as he enjoyed the routine of swinging, the simplicity of back and forth; the swings were his favorite spot to think.
He'd spent the morning studying, and now he was bored. It was almost a blessing in disguise, coming home for a week. Peter had been in a state of near-constant worry over his upcoming exams. He was going to fail them all, he just knew it. Dumbledore was going to declare him unteachable, and they would toss him out. Then he would be stuck at home where everyone was too busy to teach him. He was going to end up a veritable squib - by design, if not by blood. He was probably only one step up from one anyway.
Sirius and Remus and James told him that wouldn't happen. They told him he would be fine. Sirius even whispered, when the others weren't listening, that they'd get him passed even if they had to cheat. Now, he wouldn't have to worry. He was quite confident in his ability to pass all his exams. Aunt Miriam had spent the better part of the week tutoring him, catching him up, and for the first time since the beginning of the year, he actually understood all of his classes. It was a good feeling: like he could take on the whole world and win. He wondered if this was how his friends felt all the time. Maybe he would get himself suspended every year before exams.
It wasn't a bad racket, really. A week's vacation. He'd had to endure a little half-hearted scolding from his father, mostly in whispers because Emory was afraid of waking Delilah, and Peter had been able to distract him only a few minutes in with the reminder that he hadn't written to Peter as he promised he would. After that, the scolding turned to apologies and reassurances and new promises that Peter knew would never be kept.
There had been a little more scolding the next morning when Aunt Miriam heard, but, while Miriam put significantly more effort into it, even that hadn't been as bad as McGonagall's yelling. All in all, Peter decided, this suspension thing wasn't so bad. Sure, he was a touch bored, but that was manageable. He had never really realized how exciting the Marauders made everything. Even going to class was an adventure as they raced through the corridors. James was quite long on imagination: he could make nearly anything exciting, and Remus told the best stories. Sometimes he told ghost stories at night that were so creepy Peter would lie awake for hours, his heart racing at every noise.
Peter hadn't expected to miss them this much. He wished they would show up, like they had over the Easter Holidays, though he knew they wouldn't. Not after the way he had thrown them out. He shouldn't have been so hasty that day, he knew, and he felt a little guilty when he thought about it, but he had been so humiliated he couldn't think straight. All he wanted was for them to leave. He had never apologized for kicking them out, he realized. Perhaps he should. Maybe he could even invite them over for the day sometime - on a day when Delilah was with the doctors, or in a good temper. It would have to be the former, he decided. Her good tempers were far too unpredictable.
Peter leaned his head against the knotty rope, taking in its damp, earthy smell. That smell always reminded him of his mother, before she got sick. She used to bring him out here and push him on the swings, sending him higher and higher. Sometimes she'd sit him in her lap and swing with him, holding him close and laughing. He could still recall the musical sound of her laughter and the comforting smell of her perfume. Other times, she'd sit on the other swing, and they'd race to see who could get highest. Peter always won; his mother would pump her legs furiously, but she wouldn't move.
Peter still remembered how happy she had been the day he worked out the timing to swing by himself. He remembered the rush of pride that had shot through him when he told her he could do it himself. She was already pregnant, then, and smiling brightly. In his mind's eye, Peter could still see her golden hair shining in the afternoon sun; prettier than the sunbeams themselves. Peter swung until he was tired, and then they lay in the grass, watching the clouds. He remembered his mother placing his hands on her belly to feel the baby kick. His eyes lit up with delight at the thought that that was his new baby brother or sister in there. He hadn't known, then, how quickly they were all rushing toward disaster.
That was one of the last times he saw his mother smile. It was only a few weeks later that the premature labor began and Audrey was born already dead. He hadn't been allowed to stay; he'd been ushered to Aunt Miriam's to wait. It was the first time in his life he ever felt in the way; it wasn't the last. One of his uncles waited with him, because Miriam was so busy helping Delilah. He didn't remember, now, which one it had been. Except for Miriam, Emory and Delilah's families had all but forgotten about them now. They were nothing more than names on a Christmas card to him.
Peter stopped swinging suddenly as an idea fell into his brain. He didn't have to wait for them to come to him. He knew how to use the floo, and he knew how to get to James' house; he'd been there over New Year's, after all. He wouldn't even be risking getting into trouble, as Miriam had gone home for the day and his parents would certainly never notice his absence. Hell, Emory had forgotten to feed him the night before, and when Peter reminded him, he just absently told Peter to go make a sandwich while he lovingly fed Delilah soup. Maybe Peter would just stay with the Potters for the rest of his suspension. He was sure James wouldn't mind.
Peter stepped cautiously out of the floo and into the living room of Potter Manor. Someone was bustling around in the kitchen, filling the house with the sort of scrumptious smells Peter's own house had once been filled with. He listened closely and heard Mrs. Potter singing a soft melody. Peter scampered up the stairs and into James' room.
James wasn't there, but Peter could still clearly hear the sound of dishes being banged in the kitchen, so he felt brave enough to continue his search. He found James in the library, sitting at a table leaning his cheek on his fist dejectedly as he frowned at a pile of books. When he saw Peter, he lit up like a Christmas tree, his smile so wide that Peter was filled with warmth. He was awfully glad to have James for a friend.
James jumped up and ushered him into the library, shutting the door behind him. "How did you get here?" James asked excitedly.
"The floo."
"Does anyone know you're here?"
Peter shook his head. "I sneaked past your mother."
James' eyes shone. "Brilliant!"
Peter wasn't sure what to do with James' approval, so he smiled shyly. "I missed you. And Remus. And Sirius."
James smiled mischievously. "We could go see them. I've about had enough of organizing the library anyway."
Peter thought that a wonderful idea. He'd probably have gone to see Remus instead of James, truth be told, only he didn't know how to get to Remus' house.
"I remember how to get to Remus' house. I heard his mother say it when she brought us home over the holidays. It was Number 8, Lovelace Lane."
Peter excitedly agreed that they should go, but then realized it had been only sheer dumb luck that kept him from being caught downstairs. "It's too risky. What if we're seen?"
James smiled mischievously again and said they'd take the invisibility cloak. He'd had it with him when they were caught, after all, and had managed to keep it from being confiscated. It was currently on the top of his closet. He stood on tiptoes to fish it down, presenting it with a flourish. Peter couldn't help but smile alongside him. James was like that. His joy was contagious.
"But won't your mum worry when she notices you're gone?" Peter asked.
James' smile disappeared into a scowl. "I don't care."
Peter wasn't sure what to say to that. Usually James was a complete pushover wherever his mother was concerned. His eyes would light up when she appeared, and many had been the time Peter had caught James writing embarrassingly mushy letters to her. Peter could see why, and the Marauders never took the mickey out of him for it. If Peter had had a mother like Mrs. Potter, he would adore her, too. Peter mirrored James' scowl and was still scowling when James' smile returned. He threw the cloak across his shoulders.
"Shall we?"
Peter rushed under the cloak, and they made their way slowly to the floo and told it their destination as loudly as they dared.
Remus looked up from the book he was reading when James and Peter steppeded out of the floo and into his parlor.
"Who's there?" Remus asked, studying the floo, his eyes darting back and forth.
"Remus, it's us!" James whispered. He threw off the cloak and Remus' eyes went wide. He looked over his shoulder and leapt up to close the door.
"What are you doing here?" Remus hissed. "You can't keep doing this! You got me in trouble last time. I'm already in enough trouble right now, thank you very much. I don't even want to talk to you. You got me suspended! My parents were furious! I got a smacking!" Judging from the look on his face, Remus thought he was describing the gravest tragedy in the history of the world.
"So?" James replied with a shrug. "I got one, too. Who cares?"
"I care!" Remus retorted. "My parents are disappointed!"
James looked at Remus as though he had lost his mind. "Fine. We only came because we missed you, but if you don't want to see us, we'll go."
Remus sighed, his expression softening. "It's not that I don't want to see you, it's just that... well... you got me in trouble."
"We didn't mean to. Snape's the one you should be cross with about that," Peter asserted.
Remus looked slightly chastened. He bit his lip, looked from Peter to James and back again. "I suppose you're right. Snape was the one who framed us. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to be a prat."
"No worries. Once we figure out how to get to Sirius' house, maybe we can work out how to get even with him," James said hopefully. "I bet Sirius already has some ideas."
"We can't go to Sirius'," Remus said, shaking his head. "If my parents find out, I don't even want to think about what they'll do to me."
"Maybe we can go get him and bring him back here. We can stay in your room and hide under the cloak if your parents come," Peter replied.
James turned to Peter, the look of approval back on his face. "That's a really good idea, Pete."
Peter smiled at the praise, marveling at the way it swelled in his chest, filling him with pride.
Remus caught his eye and smiled back. "As long as we're quick about it," he agreed. "I really don't want to get in trouble again."
James threw the cloak over all three of them. Peter had always loved being under the cloak with the Marauders, up to their eyeballs in these things shouldn't have been into. It felt quite a lot like belonging, and Peter had never really felt he belonged anywhere before.
"Erm, does anyone actually know how to get to Sirius' house?" James whispered.
"I know the address," Remus offered. "I saw him writing it on a letter to his brother once."
"And you actually remember it?" Peter asked, impressed. He'd probably seen Sirius address letters home a hundred times, but he'd never paid enough attention to have noticed the address, much less remember it.
"It's number twelve, Grimmauld Place," Remus reported.
"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," James repeated.
"That's right," Remus assured him.
James reached out of the cloak and grabbed a handful of floo powder. They stopped in an empty grate looking out on a dark and frigid room. The furniture was staid and proper. It looked as though it had never been sat in and would be insulted by an attempt. The molding on the wall displayed tortured faces at the corners, and the carpet bore a stain that looked eerily like blood. A painting on the far wall of a terrifying-looking man with a black beard glared at them, muttering. Peter looked around and saw something frightening everywhere he looked. A statue of a three-headed dog snapped and snarled atop an organ whose keys had been filed to points, as though they had been made of extracted vampire fangs. A bust in the corner that looked uncomfortably like a hag eyed them as though it were hungry.
"I think this must be a mistake," Remus whispered.
"You must be right," James whispered back. "I can't imagine Sirius living in a place like this."
"We should go. This place gives me the creeps," Peter whispered.
He felt rather than saw James' answering nod. "It's clear dark wizards live here. We don't want to be caught. Let's hope there's some floo powder on the mantel."
No sooner had they stepped out of the fireplace than Peter found himself frozen in place, invisible shackles pressing painfully on his legs and chafing horribly at his wrists. Next to him, he heard Remus and James, but he guessed they were just as paralyzed as he was. The cloak slipped off of them as they struggled and fell to the floor. The bust in the corner opened its mouth and began to scream.
A black-haired man came running into the room, wand out. "Expelliarmus!" he yelled. James' wand flew out of his robes. Peter hadn't brought his wand. Remus obviously hadn't, either, as it never appeared.
The man fixed the Marauders with a glare that made Peter's blood run cold. There was nothing but cruelty in his black eyes. Peter recognized him immediately as Sirius' father. "What are you doing in my house?" His voice was smooth and far too silky. It sent shivers up Peter's spine. His stomach bunched into knots. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man would hurt him as soon as look at him. Mr. Black looked so much like Sirius it was uncanny, except for his eyes, which glittered with a cruelty that Peter was sure Sirius' could never possess.
"We must have made a mistake," James said, his voice surprisingly clear. "We're sorry. We were trying to get to Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. If you have some floo powder, we'll be on our way."
"What business have you in Grimmauld Place?" Mr. Black asked as a black-haired woman appeared behind him. Her eyes were gray, like Sirius', but they showed none of his warmth. Peter could tell that she was just as cold as her husband. He suddenly felt very sorry for Sirius. A boy appeared in Mrs. Black's wake, looking frightened. Sirius' little brother, Peter assumed. He had a kindness in his eyes that reminded Peter of Sirius. He caught Peter's eye and looked away.
"We're friends of Sirius'," Peter explained. "We met, in Dumbledore's office. We just wanted to come see him." Mr. Black's cold gaze focused on Peter, and Peter had the sudden feeling that his very soul was being searched and found lacking. "Sir," he added in a whisper, thinking that he should say something.
Mrs. Black whispered something to Mr. Black, and Mr. Black nodded before turning his gaze back to the Marauders.
"Sirius is in the cellar at the moment. I shall summon him, and he will tell me if you are truly his friends. If you are not... well... " Mr. Black let the threat hang in the air. Peter felt Remus stiffen beside him, sucking in his breath.
"Please, sir," James begged. "We just wanted to see Sirius. We're sorry. Please just let us go home."
"I'll go get Sirius," Sirius' brother volunteered.
Orion turned on him. Anger flashed across his features, but his voice stayed smooth. "Are you a servant? We have house elves for errands, Regulus. Creature!"
A few moments later, the ugliest, hairiest house elf Peter had ever seen appeared with a pop in front of Mr. Black and bowed low. "How can Creature serve Master Black?" Peter thought it awfully cruel to name the thing "creature".
"Go to the cellar and tell Sirius he has visitors," Mr. Black ordered. The house elf disappeared with another pop. It seemed to Peter, frozen and uncomfortable as he was, that a lifetime passed before Sirius appeared. His face was startlingly pale beneath a thin layer of dirt. He squinted in the light and his eyes were red and unfocused, as though he had just awakened.
Orion put a hand heavily on Sirius' shoulders. "Do you know these boys, Sirius?"
"They're my friends," Sirius said softly, his voice hardly above a whisper. He didn't look happy to see the Marauders at all. "That's James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew." Sirius pointed to each of them in turn. "They're fine. Let them in."
"Don't be a fool!" Orion hissed. "What have I taught you?" Even from across the room, Peter could see him tighten his grip on Sirius' shoulder. Sirius tried to jerk away, but Orion held him firm.
Sirius looked at Peter. All the fire had gone from his eyes, and he looked so miserable, Peter almost wanted to cry. "Peter, what do James and I call you when you're being annoying?"
"What?" Peter asked.
"Answer the question," Orion snarled, raising his wand menacingly.
"Worm Guts!" Peter cried. "You call me Worm Guts!"
"That's right," Sirius agreed. "Remus, which girl did I tell you fancies you in Transfiguration last week."
"Erin Collins," Remus whispered, blushing furiously.
James forgot himself long enough to exclaim, "Erin Collins!"
"Quiet, boy!" Orion barked.
Sirius looked apologetically at James, who clamped his mouth closed. "James, what's my record for rock skipping?"
"Seventeen," James said. "But I thought you were cheating."
"That's really them," Sirius said dully.
The invisible shackles around Peter's wrists and ankles disappeared. His hands immediately flew to his wrists to rub them. The skin was raw from just the short time he had spent constrained.
"My sincerest apologies, boys," Mr. Black said. He didn't sound the least bit sorry. "These are dangerous times, you know. One can't be too careful."
"Go home," Sirius ordered, his voice soft and flat.
Mrs. Black smacked him, hard, across the backside. Sirius' body arched to escape the blow and a pitiful cry filled with much more pain than the smack could have possibly warranted tore out of his lips.
"Have you forgotten your manners?" Mrs. Black spat at him. "Your friends went to all the trouble to come see you. The least you can do is entertain them. Creature!"
The house elf appeared again and disappeared promptly after Mrs. Black ordered it to bring refreshments to Sirius' room.
Sirius looked at the Marauders sullenly, almost resentfully. Peter suddenly wished he had stayed home. "Come on then," Sirius said, motioning them forward. Sirius was not a cheerful guide, but he was certainly an informative one. The Marauders swept from room to room, Sirius' family following along behind, as Sirius told them every detail of the house. A few times when they were finished in a room, Mr. Black would clear his throat meaningfully and Sirius would pause, thinking for a moment, before he spouted off another mundane detail that Peter couldn't have cared less about.
Each room was as chilling as the one through which they had entered. Worst of all, though, was the staircase. The heads of dead house elves were mounted on the walls like trophies. Peter heard James muttering as they passed underneath. Peter thought' James' soft spot for house elves was a little silly, but even he had to agree that the Blacks' display was awful.
When they reached the third floor, Sirius' parents finally left. Mrs. Black told the Marauders to have fun and behave in what she clearly thought was a playful tone, but that came out sounding like a threat. Sirius led them to the nearest door. A dead owl, its wings spread wide, was mounted on the wall above it. Peter stepped through, bracing himself for whatever scary thing would be in here, but it turned out to be the first normal-looking room they had seen. There was a large bed with a silver and green bedspread and silver and green throw pillows arranged atop it. Posters of the London Lions adorned the walls. The desk was covered in drawings and a letter that had James' name on it.
"This is my room," Sirius explained. "Make yourselves comfortable. My parents probably won't let you leave for a while. They'll want to be sure I'm being a good host."
"But we have to get back," Remus whispered. "We were going to find you and then go back to my house. My mother will miss me if I'm gone long."
Sirius snorted humorlessly. "Good luck with that."
"Sirius, are you-" James asked, but Sirius cut him off.
"I'm fine."
A clock ticked loudly on the wall. No one said anything for long moments. Peter coughed, hoping to fill the silence. The house elf appeared with a tray full of things to eat. Peter wasn't hungry.
"You shouldn't have come here," Sirius said harshly, looking at the floor, when the house elf had gone. "He might have hurt you."
"We wanted to see you," Peter said, his voice shaky. The adrenaline had not yet stopped going through him, and his tour through Sirius' house of horrors hadn't helped anything.
Sirius looked at Peter. His mouth worked as though he wished to say something, but couldn't get the words out. "I'll be right back. Stay here," he finally said, charging out the door and closing it behind him.
"What do you reckon?" James asked.
"Poor Sirius," Remus murmured.
James nodded.
"I think his parents... hurt him," Remus said softly, his face so concerned it was almost heartbreaking.
"I don't know," James replied.
"Imagine having to live here," Peter said.
"Imagine having to live here with that lot," James added.
"Yeah," Peter agreed.
"Poor Sirius," Remus murmured again. He sounded on the verge of tears.
No one spoke again until Sirius reappeared. He looked a little happier, or maybe he'd just washed his face. In any event, the dirt was gone and his cheeks were rosy again. Some of the passion had returned to his eyes. He tossed James a jar of something. "Put this on your wrists and ankles. It'll help. The shackles are designed to burn."
"Why does your fireplace have shackles?" James asked, scooping out a large glop of the salve and handing it off to Remus. Peter found himself suddenly impatient. The mention of his injuries had made them twinge painfully.
"My family are a bit paranoid sometimes. We have several protections in place to prevent attacks. The house is unplottable and hidden from muggles. A person can't enter through the floo unless they've been invited. No one can apparate in, either, without some painful consequences, and the house will attack anyone if the master orders it. My great-grandfather added the shackles to all the fireplaces after his son was murdered in his bed. The assassin sneaked in through an empty guest room that he had forgotten to guard. Each generation adds new things. It's all getting a little out of hand, if you ask me."
"Sirius, can I ask you a question?" Remus asked timidly.
Sirius went to his bed and flopped across it, propping himself on his elbows and inviting the others to join him. "Sure."
"What were you doing in the cellar?"
Sirius' face showed nothing as he responded, but Peter knew instinctively that he was lying. "That's where they keep the wine." Sirius gave his friends a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
The time passed slowly. Sirius glanced often at the clock as though waiting for the moment when he could declare the visit over. When he finally did so, it felt abrupt and arbitrary, but Peter was glad to be able to leave. Sirius showed them downstairs and toward the frigid room where they had entered. Mr. Black was leaving as they entered, ushering a very uncomfortable and sour looking man out the door.
"Leaving so soon, boys?" he asked. His smile was so charming that Peter almost forgot he'd threatened the Marauders' only a few short hours ago. Peter nodded along with his friends.
"Remus has to get back soon. His parents told him he couldn't stay long," Sirius explained.
"Very well. It was lovely having you boys, and you're welcome any time." Mr. Black turned back to his guest and continued ushering him out the door.
"Mr. Black?" James called timidly.
Mr. Black turned, the slightest touch of annoyance in his face. "Yes?"
"Can Sirius come spend the rest of the week with me? That was why we came over here - to invite him. My parents will make sure he gets back to Hogwarts."
Mr. Black's eyes flicked from Sirius and James and back again. Sirius looked as though he had never been less interested in anything in the world than going to Potter Manor.
"I don't know about that. Sirius is being punished."
James nodded. "Well, it wasn't really his fault, Mr. Black. It was my fault, mostly."
Mr. Black smiled his charming smile again, though the cruelty didn't quite leave his eyes. "I know Sirius a little too well to fall for that line, young man, but it will be nice to have some quiet in the house again. Very well. He can go."
"Quiet in the house," Sirius muttered under his breath as he made his way up the stairs to pack a bag. He marched so quickly the others were forced to trot to keep up. "If I've made any noise it's because he was torturing me."
He went to his room and kicked a troll leg rubbish bin across it. "Bastard. He can't wait to be rid of me."
"Well, you didn't look to keen on leaving," Peter pointed out.
Sirius crossed the room to right the rubbish bin. "Of course I didn't! If he'd known I wanted to go, he'd never have let me, the wanker."
He muttered the entire time he was packing his bags. "Your parents are okay with this, right?" he asked James when he had finished.
James shrugged. "They will be. They love you."
Sirius' mouth twitched into the slightest smile. He nodded and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, stooping a little under its weight. The day after they arrived home, all the Marauders had received a package with all their schoolbooks in it. They'd been getting daily homework assignments as well.
Remus' relief was almost palpable when they stepped out of the floo and into his parlor and discovered that his absence had gone unnoticed. Peter looked at the clock and saw that what had felt like a lifetime in Sirius' room had really only been about an hour.
"Can we go to James' next? Only I'm about to die if I can't put this bag down," Sirius grunted after Remus had said his goodbyes and scampered up to his room.
At Potter Manor, they were not so lucky as they'd been at Remus'. Mrs. Potter was waiting for them. James sighed and slipped out from under the cloak. "Where have you been?" Mrs. Potter demanded, tapping her foot angrily, the moment she saw him. "You are in loads of trouble, James Michael."
"But I went to get Sirius," James explained.
Sirius popped his head out of the cloak and waved. Mrs. Potter softened. "I'm sorry, my dear one, but you can't stay. James is being punished. He can't have friends over just now."
"Mum, please let him stay," James begged. "I'll still do my homework and organize the library. It'll be the most organized it's ever been. Only please let him stay!" James threw his arms around his mother, looking up at her adoringly.
Mrs. Potter took a deep breath as though steeling herself. "The answer is no, Jamie. You know you're not allowed to invite friends over without permission. The answer is no, and that's final."
Sirius looked crestfallen. He bit his lip nervously. "Will you come back and explain it to my parents? Only I don't want them thinking I invited myself."
Mrs. Potter reached out to caress his face. She looked as though she were warring with herself, and for a moment Peter thought she was going to change her mind. But in the end, she stood firm. "Of course I will. I'll go over there right now and make sure you aren't blamed."
Sirius nodded, though he still looked nervous. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I go?"
"Go ahead. I'll be back in a moment." Peter scrambled to get out of the way as Mrs. Potter stepped toward the floo.
James grabbed Mrs. Potter's wrist. "You can't go over there. Their fireplace captures people."
"I've been there before," Mrs. Potter said wryly. "I'm sure I'll be fine."
"But you can't send him back. You said he could come any time!"
"James," Mrs. Potter began, but James cut her off.
"They had him locked in the cellar, Mum."
Mrs. Potter's eyes went wide. "The cellar?" Her voice trailed off as her eyes went misty. "Oh that poor dear."
"Mum, please," James begged once more. "You have to let him stay. You can't send him back there. You just can't!"
This time Mrs. Potter didn't have to think about it. "Yes, of course he can stay. And you're right. I did say he was welcome here any time. Only from now on, please at least ask us before you invite him? Also, you're still being punished. I expect all your homework and your chores to be done. Understand?"
James nodded emphatically. "Yes, ma'am."
Sirius' entire face transformed when was told he could stay. He threw his arms around Mrs. Potter, thanking her profusely, then he and James ran up the stairs together, forgetting about Peter entirely. Mrs. Potter sat in a rocking chair by the fire and sighed loudly before picking up her knitting. Peter had no escape. James and Sirius never reappeared, but the moment Mrs. Potter went to check on dinner, he bolted up to James' room. He and Sirius were on the bed, discussing doing their Charms homework, though they didn't appear to actually be doing it.
"You're still here?" James asked, when he showed his face.
"Of course I'm still here," Peter snapped. "You left me down there!"
"Well, you should probably get going," Sirius told him. "You don't want your parents to miss you."
"My parents never miss me," Peter grumbled, trying not too feel hurt that his friends had clearly forgotten about him, and now they didn't even seem sorry.
"Then stay," James said with a shrug. "Only don't let my mum see you. I don't think she'd appreciate two surprise guests in one day."
"We were just about to start our Charms homework," Sirius said with a small smile. "You're good at Charms. Maybe you can help us."
Peter smiled back. He was good at Charms. It was his best subject. "Nah, I should get back," he said softly, his smile fading.
James nodded his agreement. "We'll walk you to the floo. Sirius can distract my mum if she's in there."
Mrs. Potter was in there, back in her spot by the fire. "Mum, Sirius is hungry," James said.
Mrs. Potter never seemed happier than when she was feeding someone, so she rose quickly and ushered Sirius into the kitchen. Peter took off the cloak and gave it back to James. "See you in a few days."
"Yes, see you!" James agreed. Peter took the floo powder and stepped in, spinning and rushing until he landed in his own living room, where no one had even noticed he was gone.